The Dream Team
by athenasdragon
Summary: Any oneshots I write focusing on the Dream Team (Peggy, Daniel, Jack) with a variety of Tumblr/submitted prompts. Hopefully there will be various ships between the three of them and some OT3 ones but I'm new to writing OT3s so those may be later. Prompt me in a review or on Tumblr!
1. Stepladder

**"** **Imagine Person A coming across a stepladder and showing Person B. Then Person B argues that it's a ladder and they get into a heated debate. Bonus: Person C remains neutral and calls them both idiots." (from otpprompts on Tumblr)**

 _I just can't get enough of these three dorks! I didn't even realize it until I saw them get their shit together in the last couple of episodes and work as a team, but then EEEEEE. There won't be any kind of regular updates on this story because I'll just post stuff as I feel like writing it, but I'd love it if you reviewed with your thoughts anyway! You can prompt me in a review or on Tumblr (the link to my blog is on my profile)._

 _So... yeah. Enjoy!_

* * *

In the days after the Howard Stark fiasco, the SSR headquarters fell into a sort of exhausted silence. Those agents who were lucky enough to make it out alive were home with their families or out drinking away the shock. The ladies of the phone company never stepped a foot in anyway, so it wasn't until Agent Carter rounded up Sousa and Thompson nearly a week later that anyone showed their face in the damaged office.

The two men rode up the elevator in silence. Thompson's sleek blond hair was uncombed and Sousa's shirt protruded from beneath his vest; they were sleep-deprived and shaky. Memories had resurfaced for both of them that they would have preferred to keep buried. And yet here they were—perhaps it was a good thing that Carter's call had pulled them from their own coping mechanisms.

The paneled doors slid open to reveal the disaster exactly as they had left it. Most of the windows were still gaping mouths rimmed by jagged glass teeth, their glittering vomit scattered across the scratched linoleum floor. One of the desks bared black scorch marks where the Chief had leaned against it. It smelt of gunpowder and sweat and the stale coffee in the corner pot and the cold, grimy air blowing in from outside.

Sousa exhaled loudly. "Peggy said she'd be here in a few minutes."

Thompson grunted.

"Maybe we should get started."

Another grunt, but this time Thompson pulled his hands from his deep pockets and walked over to the nearest desk. A mug of coffee had spilled over some blank forms, which he swept into the wastebasket. Then he took the cup to the cart in the corner and poked at it halfheartedly with a stained napkin.

Sousa disappeared into an adjacent room and emerged with a broom. He tried to push the shattered glass into a pile, but it was difficult to maneuver both the cleaning tool and his crutch. After he leaned his crutch against a desk and began limping around, wincing heavily each time he put weight on his prosthetic, Thompson stopped what he was doing to watch.

"Gimme that," he finally growled when he had observed his colleague struggling for a minute or so. Pulling the broom from Sousa's hands, he tossed the lightweight crutch to him and began scraping aggressively at the floor. "See if you can do something about those damn windows."

Sousa shrugged and waited to smirk until Thompson's back was turned. "Sir yes sir." The tap that always accompanied his irregular gait faded as he went to explore the janitorial closet further.

By the time Peggy arrived, the glass had joined the stained papers in the wastebasket and Sousa was perched on top of a stepladder, doing his best to fasten some old oilcloth over the broken windows. Peggy glanced sharply at Thompson and saw that he was too absorbed in cleaning the coffee cart to notice that Sousa was balancing on his good leg, leaning far out from his rickety support to hammer tacks into the sill.

"Gentlemen," she greeted them briskly. "Making progress, I see."

Sousa grunted something unintelligible around a mouthful of tacks. Thompson looked up and nodded. "Agent."

"Agent." She held up a brown paper bag. Spots of grease were appearing on the bottom but the smell coming from it was positively heavenly in the uneasy squalor of the room. "I've brought lunch."

Thompson snorted. "Old habits die hard, eh?"

Peggy rolled her eyes. "Any snide comments and I will happily eat all three hamburgers myself."

The room darkened slightly as Sousa managed to completely cover one window. He spat the tacks into his hand so he could speak. "Don't test her, Jack, I've seen her do it."

Thompson held up his hands in mock defeat. "Fine. Just pass the grub."

Sousa teetered on his precarious support. "Lemme just put this ladder away, then we can break for lunch."

"Stepladder."

There was a thud as Sousa leapt to the floor and landed hard on his good leg. He winced. "What?"

"It's called a stepladder," Thompson insisted through a large mouthful.

"It's a ladder!" Sousa insisted, dragging the object in question behind him and back to the supply closet. "I mean, it's a _small_ ladder, but it's still a ladder."

"Stepladder!" the other agent called after him as he disappeared around a corner.

"Really, you two," Peggy scolded as she leaned primly back against her own desk. Her nails stood out scarlet against the sandwich she held. She looked remarkably put-together, Thompson noted, considering what they had all been through. Her voice was serious but there was laughter in her eyes. "What a ridiculous thing to disagree over."

"No," Sousa said seriously as he rejoined them, "We've disagreed over less."

Peggy tilted her head back as the laughter spilled over. Thompson wasn't sure he'd ever heard her laugh non-sarcastically. It was refreshing. Sousa was watching her with equal awe.

"You two are going to be the death of me," she said finally, half-joking.

"Hopefully not any time soon," Sousa responded, picking at his burger.

She sighed. "I think we've established that I can hold my own. You'll have to try harder next time." Brushing her hands together, Peggy straightened and looked around the office. "Right. There's some filing that needs to be done and furniture to be replaced." She paused. "And someone's going to have clean out the Chief's office."

"I've got the filing," Thompson blurted, surprising even himself. He told himself that it was because he wasn't up to going through the Chief's things.

Sousa gestured with his half-eaten sandwich. "I've got Dooley's office. I don't know the protocol for having furniture removed from an office that doesn't exist."

"That's that then." The three of them set in for a long afternoon of work.


	2. Costume Party

**Peggy, Thompson and Sousa undercover at a costume party! (I was prompted by the lovely glitnir-gebo over on Tumblr)**

 _A/N: I apologize if this got a little long and rambly... I was way too proud of myself for picking Thompson and Sousa's costumes and then I finished at like 1am and it was just generally a mess. However, I think there's still plenty of cuteness in here for you to enjoy! Let me know what you think._

* * *

"I'm sorry, you want us to what?" Peggy asked, cocking her head to the side even though Sousa knew she had heard perfectly well.

Thompson scowled and tugged at his cuffs. "This party is the only time anyone gets into Robinson's estate all year. We're going to have to go in as guests."

"And… the theme is movies?" Sousa asked tentatively. He, too, knew precisely what had been said, but he knew how much Thompson disliked the idea and making him repeat it was a little amusing.

"We'd better do something popular and recent," Thompson warned.

"Ideally our costumes would hide our identities, too," Peggy mused. "I may have an idea."

Sousa was struggled to keep from beaming. His fingers tapped excitedly against his crutch as an idea sprang fully-formed to his mind. "I have just the thing."

Thomson smiled a little to himself. "I might be able to throw something together…" The surprisingly pleasant expression slid once more from his face. "Be back at the office at seven, sharp. We can change here and take one of the cars to the party. I expect both of you to smuggle in as many toys as you can—we don't know what it'll take to get Robinson to talk."

The two agents nodded before walking briskly away, perhaps a little too quickly and with a little too much enthusiasm.

* * *

"Come on, Peggy, how long are you going to take?" Sousa called into the locker room. He was anxious for her to see his own meticulously-crafted costume.

"Just a moment!" the response echoed out.

Sousa sighed and leaned heavily onto his crutch, which he had managed to transform into a large maroon umbrella with a curved handle. He was wearing a black coat over a creamy orange vest with a yellow ascot. His khaki slacks were creased to perfection and he held an enormous blue top hat in his other hand.

He finally heard the _click_ of his colleague's heels approaching. "Jiminy Cricket, Daniel!" she joked as she came into view and saw his costume, but he was frozen and didn't respond.

Peggy had donned a wide-brimmed white hat over a curly gold wig. Her dress, a decadent confection of lace, false flowers, and white chiffon, hung easily off her shoulders and swept the floor behind her. AS ridiculous as it could have been, it somehow fitted with her elegant, angular face and confident stride. She raised an eyebrow when Sousa still hadn't responded several seconds later. "Cat got your tongue, Agent Sousa?"

He cleared his throat. "Who are you dressed as?"

"The second Mrs. de Winter from _Rebecca_ ," Peggy explained as though it should be obvious, "when she dressed like one of the mansion's portraits for the costume ball." He had never seen the movie but he nodded as though this sounded familiar. She swirled the skirt a little. "You wouldn't believe how many weapons I can fit under here."

Sousa shook his umbrella, forcing a smile as he finally broke from his shock. "I've got a few, too." He almost offered her his arm before deciding against it. _Come on, Agent, just because you're not in the office it doesn't mean that this is any better an idea. Remember what Krzeminski said._ "Shall we head up and see what Thompson's got?"

"Wouldn't miss it," she responded with a slightly malicious grin that made him grip his crutch tighter.

* * *

There was no light under the office door as they approached.

"Surely he's not late." The annoyance was evident in Peggy's voice. She put her ear to the door before entering, presumably out of longstanding habit, and pushed it open when she heard nothing.

Quick as lightning, a figure dressed in black darted out in front of her. Its face was swathed in dark fabric except for its steel-grey eyes. It brandished a whippy fencing foil and danced back and forth on its toes, clearly offering a challenge.

Peggy spun, her long leg keeping her well out of range of the foil as her immaculate white slipper impacted the intruder's jaw. Sousa was less than a second behind as he slid a pistol from his umbrella and cocked it, aiming the barrel at the figure's head in one smooth motion.

The figure let out a deep groan which betrayed its identity. "Damn it Carter, was that really called for?"

Sousa immediately dropped his weapon to his side. "Thompson?" He slipped it back into its hiding place, fingers shaking slightly in the wake of the adrenaline, and loped over to pull his colleague to his feet. "What are you doing?"

"Clearly not playing the hilarious joke I intended," he grumbled, allowing himself to be pulled up. He rolled up his mask and poked at his jawbone, where a shining purple bruise was already developing. "Jesus Carter. You've never seen Zorro?"

Peggy, who had been sensibly hanging back, let out something very similar to a guffaw. "You dressed as Zorro?"

Thompson stiffened like an offended hen. "It's a good film. What are you, a princess or something?"

"I'm the second—oh, never mind. Let's just get to the party and get what we need from Robinson."

Sousa noticed that she was eyeing Thompson's face carefully, however. Peggy might talk tough but he knew that she was probably beating herself up for not recognizing her coworker. The three of them made their way to the elevators and downstairs in full costume, Thompson's slowly-swelling face hidden once more by his mask.

* * *

The party was easy enough to get into, though somehow it worked out that Peggy was the one to lead them, one on each arm, through the doors.

"Ah! The Second Mrs. de Winters!" the host smiled, bowing them in.

Peggy laughed lightly, emanating charm from her sparkling eyes. "I'm glad someone recognized me! My _friends_ here aren't quite up to snuff on their film."

The man chuckled as they passed him. Once they were a safe distance away, Thompson tugged his arm from her grasp and Sousa belatedly followed his lead. "All right Carter, you've had your fun. Let's get to work."

"Gladly." She swept off into the crowd, still with that champagne-stylish smile.

Once Sousa had torn his gaze from the frothy skirt which swayed with her stride, he looked to Thompson. "She'll probably do better on her own," he offered. "Woman's charms and all that."

Thompson scowled, but his expression quickly turned guilty—at least, Sousa thought it did. It was hard to tell behind the mask. "Maybe. I guess she's shown she can hold her own." He fingered his jaw once more and visibly winced.

"Come on," Sousa said, urging him along with his umbrella crutch. "Let's check out the buffet. Maybe Robinson will be there."

It was a beautiful party—a soirée, rather, as Thompson corrected him sharply. The correct terminology was essential to blending in with the rest of the guests. The ballroom was Victorian, Sousa thought, with ornate detailing along the walls and stunning chandeliers which cast chips of light over the guests. Women in all manner of costumes swirled across the dance floor with their equally diverse partners. He recognized Dorothy's blue gingham dress and pigtails and found that the character had lost all innocence due to her association with the ruthless assassin of the same name. There were a few of the usual Cleopatras and Scarlett O'Haras. At least three men wore approximations of Captain America's star spangled armor and Sousa felt a sting of pity for Peggy each time he saw them. He couldn't even imagine what it must be like to see people using her dead love as an amusing costume.

Sousa grabbed a glass of champagne, then another. His thoughts kept turning towards his colleague and her ambitious costume, her smile and her stride and _oh lord he wasn't supposed to be thinking like this_.

He tried to keep his eyes on the room, especially since he had the sneaking suspicion that Thompson might actually be able to read his mind, but the other man seemed like he was actually focusing on the task at hand to maybe he was safe for the time being. Besides, his oversized blue hat kept sliding down over his eyes, which made it difficult to concentrate.

They made polite conversation with a few of the guests and inquired casually after their host, but to no avail. After several circuits of the room they were just about to start searching the rest of the house when Peggy swept up to them, a smile on her lips and a flush in her cheeks. "Why gentlemen! Fancy seeing you here."

"You seem like you're having fun," Thompson said drily.

"Actually," she said, narrowing her eyes to imply that her words held more than their literal meaning, "I thought I might leave soon."

Sousa couldn't help but smile. It seemed that she was handling things on her own after all.

"What's stopping you from leaving now?" Thompson asked almost urgently. One of the women turned at his apparent rudeness and the three of them sank back out of the crowd. "Waiting to compliment the host on the party?"

"Precisely." Peggy smiled. "I thought that if I could convince one of you two to dance, I could keep an eye out for him in the process." She looked at Sousa first—not just a passing glance but a real stare with a question in her eyes.

He cleared his throat. He sounded embarrassingly like a car trying to start with no gas in the tank. "That's awful nice of you, Peggy, but I'd just step on your toes." He tapped his shoe with his umbrella and she looked almost startled, as though she had completely forgotten about his leg. Without missing a beat, she turned her attention to Thompson, who was fidgeting with his outfit. It must have been getting stuffy by that point in the evening.

"Perhaps the great Zorro would care to dance?"

"He wouldn't," Thompson said in a low voice, but sighed and stepped forward. He knew Peggy well enough by now to realize that this was no whim of convenience; if she was asking him to dance on a mission—or any other time, for that matter—she had a damn good motive.

They stepped out onto the floor together and were quickly lost in the swirling mass of dancers. Sousa shifted his weight from leg to leg and waited for them to flicker back into view, the tall, black figure and the floaty white one. They looked good, he realized. However much Thompson was going to complain about this later, they matched each other's time with a graceful ease. It almost looked like they had danced before…

Sousa took a large drink of champagne and pushed those thoughts out of his head just as a pretty young woman dressed like a flapper edged over to him. "Hi there, Mister!"

He couldn't help but smile at the enthusiasm in her voice. "Hello."

"I love your costume!" She grinned. "Most people wouldn't think to add the umbrella."

"It's… important, yeah," he said, feeling for some reason like he was lying.

Before the conversation could go any further, three figures burst from the crowd, scattering startled guests and knocking over a small table of refreshments. Peggy and Thompson were in hot pursuit of an unfamiliar blonde woman in expensive clothing.

"Daniel!" Peggy yelled, her skirt billowing out behind her, and he took two limping steps towards their path before swinging his crutch with enough force to fell a horse. The woman shrieked as it smashed into her shins and Sousa belatedly realized that that level of gusto was probably uncalled for.

Thompson ripped the mask from his face as he slid to a stop and knelt above the prone, groaning woman. "We're SSR!" Sousa assured the crowd, holding up his badge as his colleague handcuffed her. The woman he had been talking two just seconds before glanced from the woman on the floor to Peggy, who was trying to be surreptitious about freeing a pistol from the lacy tangle of her skirt, to Thompson and his bruised face, and finally to the newly-revealed crutch which Sousa now leaned heavily against. Even now, a year after the war ended, two steps without the damn thing were enough to cripple him for the rest of the evening.

The girl took a step backward and melted into the crowd. He sighed angrily and shoved his badge back into his coat. "I assume this is a situation where you fill me in once we get back to HQ?"

Peggy flashed him a guilty look. "Sorry Daniel. It's a long story but we've got our woman."

Thompson finished handcuffing "their woman" and hauled her to her feet. He waved over his shoulder at the gathered crowd. "Thanks for the party, fellas. Let's do it again soon."

Peggy rolled her eyes and waited while Sousa ducked to retrieve his enormous blue hat from the floor, then followed him out. At least when she walked behind him she couldn't read the pain on his face.

Into the contained back of the car went the still-mysterious woman. Thompson beat Peggy to the driver's seat but she slid into the bench seat in the back alongside Sousa rather than claiming the front. Thompson put on the radio and they rode in tired silence for a few minutes.

"I'm impressed by your costume," Peggy finally said, adjusting her massive skirt.

"Finally," Thompson said, half turning.

Peggy laughed—actually laughed, as though they were just friends returning from a party. "I meant Daniel." She turned to Sousa. "How did you throw that together so quickly? And the umbrella?"

He shrugged to hide his embarrassment. "My niece loved the movie. I promised I'd take her out for Halloween this year and dress up."

"Sousa," Thompson interjected, "it's May."

"I know. It's just, I wasn't here last year…" He trailed off and they all knew exactly how he felt. The missed years with loved ones would never be forgotten, even if those loved ones were still around.

"I still think it's impressive," Peggy said after a few more moments.

"Thanks." Sousa straightened his mouth with some effort. "So let's hear about her." He jerked his head towards the back. Trying to have these normal conversations with Peggy took more energy and thought than he had available to give just then.

Thompson laughed loudly. "Carter seduced her?"

"What?"

Peggy turned to him but glared at the back of Thompson's head. "This is Robinson's wife. I was talking to her at the party and found out that she was really the one running things. She implied that she might be interested in a… covert meeting with me later in the evening, but of course I needed to get the information as quickly as possible."

A strangely amusing thought connected in Sousa's mind. "So you were dancing with Thompson to make the suspect's wife jealous?"

"It worked!" Peggy said, her voice a mixture of pride and something else that might have been irony. It was hard to tell when he couldn't see her face clearly. "She dragged me off to the library and I managed to get a few things of use out of her. Then she came to her senses, realized her mistake, and ran."

Sousa laughed in spite of himself. "See Thompson? I told you she could get by on her women's charm without our help."

"I don't think you could have foreseen it like this, though," Thompson argued from the front seat.

"'Women's charms'?" Peggy asked at the same time.

Sousa leaned back. "Well you two bagged her in the end, I guess." He yawned. "I suppose now we've got to stay and interrogate her."

"Nah," Thompson responded. "I think a night alone with her thoughts might do her some good. We'll put a guard on her and head home for the night."

"I for one can't wait to get out of this bloody costume!" Peggy exclaimed. Sousa looked at her sideways.

"How did you manage to get _your_ costume in the space of a day? It seems pretty specific."

"A girl has her ways."

Sousa smiled and shook his head. "Fine. And I'm not even going to ask about the masked vigilante here." He nodded to the front seat. Somehow the laughter was helping the steady ache in his leg that throbbed with his heartbeat and he almost wished the drive would never end.

Thompson sputtered something unintelligible and he and Peggy laughed.

The ride did end eventually, of course, with them locking up Mrs. Robinson and heading into the Men's Locker Room to relieve themselves of the burdens of their costumes. Peggy changed on the other side of the partition as she had before the Russia mission all those months ago. The memory brought a flush to Sousa's neck that could, fortunately, be blamed on his stifling ascot. She and Thompson tossed veiled insults back and forth like a ball while he listened and tried to keep his weight off his bad leg. All too soon they were standing outside the building, nodding farewell and striding off to catch their separate cabs. He limped down the sidewalk, his bitterness having long since evaporated into resignation, and glanced back at his disappearing colleagues.

 _You'll see her again tomorrow, idiot_ , he reminded himself, and forced his crutch into another arc so he could continue his progress. Try as he might, though, he knew he wouldn't be able to keep the beautiful figure in the old-fashioned gown out of his dreams…


	3. The Letter Fiasco

**From the blog otpprompts on Tumblr:**

 **"Imagine person A hands person B a letter confessing their feelings in beautiful, clean handwriting, written in gold ink with their best calligraphy pen…**

 **…and person B never learned how to read cursive.**

 **OT3 bonus: Person C takes the letter and reads it out loud… regardless of whether or not they can actually read it."**

* * *

"Hey, Peggy."

She looked up as Sousa approached her desk. "Good evening, Daniel. Are you heading home?"

"Actually," he said, fidgeting with his crutch, "I wanted to give you this." He held out a neatly-folded piece of paper which trembled slightly with his fingers.

Peggy took the paper, puzzled. They and Thompson were the last three at the office, which was only illuminated by their desk lamps. Thompson was in his office, of course, and as far as she knew there weren't any open cases; they were still cleaning up the mess from the Stark case. There wasn't any reason for him to be giving her a report.

"What is it?"

But Sousa was already limping away to collect his coat from his chair. "Actually, just read it when you have time. Or don't read it. It's not really important." He laughed, but the tight, strained noise held no humor. "All right, see you tomorrow." He made a speedy exit via the elevators.

Carefully unfolding the thick paper, Peggy saw that it was a letter. The handwriting was cramped and loopy and crafted in a shimmering gold ink that didn't make for easy reading.

 _Dear Peggy,_

 _I know – probably – welcome, but I feel – something. It – be – of me—_

 _I – Of course – you're the best agent at the SSR – deny that, - admire you as more –_

She could only make out bits and pieces of the letter, but those parts that were legible were too confusing to be useful.

 _Captain Rogers—with—understand that—decision you make, but I'd—you sometime._

She felt her heart leap without warning as she read the name and title. Why had Sousa written such a mysterious letter and why was he mentioning Steve? Surely if he had some new information about Project Rebirth he would have just told her, or told Thompson directly.

 _You don't—right away, or—want to. I just—know._

 _D. Sousa_

Peggy sighed. It seemed important enough that she should find someone to read it for her, but then it might be too personal for anyone else to see.

Just as she decided that she really ought to find out what the letter said, Thomson came out of his office and switched off the light behind him. He looked at her with surprise as he put on his hat and shrugged into his coat. "You're still here? It's almost midnight."

"I know." She gestured to the scattered papers on her desk. "Just working on the paperwork from the Stark case."

Thompson nodded and headed for the elevators. "Head home soon, okay? They can wait." He had been doing that often lately, dropping little comments about her wellbeing, and she hadn't decided whether it was because he respected her a little more now or because being Chief made him the mother hen of everyone in the office.

"Actually, Agent Thompson," she said quickly before she could change her mind, "I could use your help with something."

"There's something I never thought I'd hear." He smirked but made his way back over. "What's up?"

"Daniel gave me this letter before he left. He seemed agitated, as though it were something urgent, but for some reason he wrote it in gold ink and I can't read a word of it." She reluctantly passed the paper to Thompson. "Can you make it out?"

Thompson furrowed his brow in concentration as he read. It only took him a few seconds before his eyes skimmed down to the bottom of the page and a strange expression came over his face. This was quickly replaced with a wry grin. "You're sure you want to know what it says?"

"Is it bad news?"

Her colleague's only response was to chuckle before reading out the letter.

 _"Dear Peggy,_

 _"I know you'll probably welcome this letter, but I still feel like it might be too forward or something. It wouldn't be right of me to hold out, though."_

Peggy raised an eyebrow. "That's really what it says?"

"I'm not done yet!

 _"I want to go out with you. Of course it's because you're the best agent at the SSR, though I guess you could deny that, but the fact remains that I admire you as more than a colleague._

 _"Captain Rogers isn't with you anymore, and I hope that someday you can understand that. I can guess what decision you will make, but I'd still like to get a drink with you sometime._

 _"You don't need to answer right away, or tell me that you want to. I just know you'll say yes._

 _"D. Sousa"_

Peggy felt anger prickling inside her as the awkward, arrogant words tumbled from Thompson's mouth. Here she had thought that Sousa was different, that he was sensitive and compassionate and understood what she was going through. After all, they were both undervalued at the SSR. And he had always shown so much respect for Steve…

When he had asked her for a drink after the Stark case, it was the first time she had really considered anything between them. She put off her answer because she honestly didn't have one. In the ensuing weeks, the idea had become more tolerable—even appealing from certain angles. Maybe she had found someone who would give her the time she needed to recover from the war because he was struggling with similar problems. Now those ideas were shattered by the self-entitled, callous demands for attention she had just heard.

For once in his life, Thompson looked sympathetic. "I know my comment's probably the last thing you want to hear, Carter, but that's a pretty stuck-up offer if you ask me."

She flexed the muscles in her hands, clenching and unclenching her fingers. "I agree, Agent." A reasonable voice in the back of her mind warned her to let it roll off her shoulders like all the abuse she had experienced at the SSR, but the hot flares of hurt and anger silenced it. "Do you know where I could find Agent Sousa at this hour?"

Thompson looked thoughtful. "If he's not at home, he'll be at this little bar two streets over." He scratched out a name and address on a spare piece of paper.

Peggy was so caught up in her anger that she didn't have time to wonder why Thompson was being so helpful. She stood, snatching her coat and switching off her lamp. "Thank you, Jack."

"No problem."

* * *

"Age—Daniel!" she corrected herself as she walked into the bar. As much as she wanted to address him with his proper rank, use it to distance them and remind them both of their real relationship, doing so in a civilian environment was probably unwise.

He jumped so high he almost missed his stool on the way back down; he grabbed at the counter and spun to look at her. "Peggy! What are you doing here?" A deep flush came over his features, visible even in the dimly-lit bar. "Did—did you read my letter?"

"I certainly did," she said firmly. When she was a few feet away from him she planted her feet and stood straight and tall, like the young soldiers she used to inspect as dawn broke over the training camps. The place was mostly empty so late at night. "Frankly, I thought that it was childish, arrogant, and demanding, not to mention unprofessional. When you offered drinks several weeks ago and I gave an indefinite answer, that did not permit you to write a letter demanding my further attention!"

She stopped, a little breathless, to watch his mouth hinge open and closed like the broken jaw of a doll. When he finally made a sound, the words were rushed and jumbled and weak, like he couldn't catch them before they sprang, half-formed and confused, from the end of his tongue.

"Peggy—Agent—I'm so sorry—I never meant—I didn't—I should have realized—"

Peggy held up a hand. "I don't want to hear any more about it, and when you come in to work tomorrow you had better be professional. I might be willing to overlook this."

Sousa swallowed and nodded and she spun on her heel to leave. She had released her anger, and now all that was left was a sort of throbbing disappointment and a sensation of having something pass through her fingertips before she could catch hold of it.

* * *

She didn't sleep well. When she got to work, it was obvious that Sousa hadn't either: his eyes were puffy and pink and his wrinkled shirt protruded from beneath his vest. At least she had been able to hide her exhaustion beneath a bright face of makeup and a pressed skirt.

Her desk was still scattered with the papers from the previous night so she settled herself in to organize and file them. She had to pass on their cover story for the incident in the movie theater to the police, who would in turn give the limited explanation to the families of the victims.

"Carter! Sousa! In my office," Thompson barked suddenly, and she stood and brushed a few imaginary crumbs from her skirt. Maybe there was some new case that they could throw themselves into and avoid dealing with last night's awkwardness.

"What the hell did you two say to each other?" he asked once he had shut the door behind them and they both stood facing his desk.

"Agent Thompson, I really don't think—"

"What are you talking about, Jack—"

He held up a hand to silence them, scowling. "Don't try to deny it because you both look like hell. I know about the letter," he added to Sousa. "Carter couldn't read your fancy handwriting so she had me look at it. She didn't know what it was about at the time."

Sousa hunched his shoulders, face bright pink. "Great. That's just great. Look, Jack, I realize it was a stupid mistake and it won't happen again."

Thompson ran his fingers through his carefully-styled blond hair. "Since Carter has yet to grow a sense of humor, apparently she didn't realize I was editing the letter as I read."

Peggy froze. "What?"

"I said I wasn't reading the real letter, all right?" Thompson handed her a piece of paper lined with his own spiky black script. "Here's what Sousa actually said. I'm going to lock the both of you in here until you figure this out because I can't have you sulking around all week." With this he swaggered leisurely out of the door, locking it behind him.

Peggy ducked her head to read before she could make eye contact with Sousa.

 _Dear Peggy,_

 _I know that this letter probably won't be welcome, but I feel like I have to say something. It wouldn't be honest of me otherwise._

 _I really admire you. Of course I admire you because you're the best agent at the SSR—no one can deny that, especially not now—but I also admire you as more than a friend._

 _Captain Rogers is still with you. I understand that and I respect whatever decision you make, but I'd love to get a drink with you sometime._

 _You don't have to respond right away, or ever, if you don't want to. I just wanted you to know._

 _D. Sousa_

"Daniel," she started, but stopped and straightened when she saw a few of their colleagues peering in at the window. Resisting her instinct to pull the blinds, she turned her back to the curious eyes and waited for him to do the same. "This is a completely different letter than what Thompson read out. The son of a bitch," she added under her breath. Besides the harmful prank he had played, the comment about Steve was well over the line.

"I understand," her friend said, his voice admirably level. "You want to keep it professional. I can respect that."

"The thing is, Daniel, it hasn't been that long. It really hasn't. And with everything that's happened recently I don't know if I can handle one more thing right now." She tugged at the hem of her jacket, suddenly unsure what to do with her hands. "I'll stand by what I said before: maybe another time."

Sousa turned his head a few degrees but she still couldn't read his face. "You don't have to say that, Peggy. It's okay."

"Maybe another time," she repeated firmly, "and maybe sometime soon. Just not right now."

They both turned now that there was no need to hide their speech. The few lingering faces at the window scattered back into the office. Sousa was grinning at her, having finally caught her meaning. His mouth twitched a little when he saw that she was still clutching the transcript of the letter. "Wait, does Thompson still have my note?"

Peggy frowned and opened the door to see the man in question innocuously talking to one of the agents. When he saw her watching him he paused and raised an eyebrow. She nodded.

"I don't know, Agent," she said casually as they both exited the office. "That's something you'd have to take up with the Chief."

Sousa's face darkened. "Oh, I'll be taking something up with him, all right."

"Come to think at it, I may have a few words for him myself." The two agents smiled brightly at Thompson across the room. "A few very choice words."

But at that moment it was a sunny morning and the office was clean and bustling. There was coffee to be made and drunk and reports to be written and filed, and just possibly a friendship to explore. So Peggy saved her words for another time and sank herself into the work that waited for her, happy in the knowledge that there was someone waiting for her when she emerged.


	4. The Howling Commandos

_A/N: For ioweyouabourbon in response to the lovely fic they wrote me! (It's called "Whiskey and Lipstick" and it's on their Tumblr, you should definitely go read it.) I mean I say lovely but it was angsty enough that I felt the need to make this especially angsty in retaliation, so take what you will from that._

 _Meanwhile, my ongoing stories sit untouched..._

 _Prompt: Thompson watches Peggy interact with the Howling Commandos._

* * *

Carter lounged on the needle-cushioned earth, tin cup clutched in her long fingers. Her head was thrown back as she laughed at something Dugan had said.

Thompson's mouth curled into a reciprocal smile. The atmosphere was oddly relaxed for the night before a mission—this, combined with the whiskey they had all been sampling, was helping to dull the anxiety he had felt on the plane. The fire and lighthearted conversation kept the wavering darkness at bay.

His eyes kept flickering back to Peggy's—Agent Carter's—face. Here she was more at ease than he had ever seen her in the office. She nudged Dugan for a rude comment he had made and laughed again. Her shoulders were loose and she was stretched out with her legs crossed now that her mission gear couldn't possibly make it untoward.

To him, she had been "Captain America's girlfriend" for a long time, but here, in her element, she was something more. All at once he saw how perfectly a gun would fit into her well-manicured hands and how she would sling the weight of a heavy rucksack—or even a rescued prisoner—over her shoulder. _Agent_. The title struck him like a slap. _This woman is a damn agent and she takes lunch orders every day._

A pocket of pitch in the fire vaporized with a crack and everyone in the company sat up, hands on their weapons. By the time they had settled back, gaze shifting warily and Thompson's pulse just overcoming the alcohol to roar through his trigger hand, his moment of contemplation was over.

Or so he thought. Now she was anything but relaxed. The noise had put them all on edge and she fingered the pistol holstered at her hip, which only drew Thompson's attention back to her long legs. He scowled at himself—both for his jumpiness and distraction—and took a long sip of whiskey. It burned down his throat and up his sinuses.

"That's quite a face, Agent Thompson." Carter raised an eyebrow at him and smiled, dropping her hand from her firearm. "Having trouble with the whiskey, are we?"

"Just remembering how the Chief forced me into babysitting you," he retorted.

The Howling Commandos went so silent that he could hear each tiny crackle of the flames. Thompson gradually realized the depth of his mistake as they all glared at him, straightening and stretching almost imperceptibly.

"Did you say something, Agent?" Junior asked innocently.

Thompson saw Dugan glance at Carter, who shook her head a fraction of a degree. The enormous soldier broke out into a grin. "Well isn't that cute, Peggy! This gentleman here thinks that _he's_ babysitting _you_."

"You shouldn't hold it against him," Carter said gravely. "He's so used to being petted and praised by the chief that he doesn't quite know what he's saying."

"Listen here, Agent Thompson," Happy Sam began. "I know you've served but you'd better be really damn good at what you do to be put in charge of this mission over Peggy. She's one of the best fighters I've ever met—hell, I'd be terrified to go up against her. I suggest you start taking her seriously."

Thompson nodded and held up his drink, acknowledging the speech. "Noted."

"Now boys, there's no need for this kind of talk," Carter said sternly, and at her word the tension melted from the air. "Agent Thompson earned his position through hard work. Once I get out in the field again I'm sure he'll remember why the SSR hired me, but for now he's the boss." She gave Thompson a pointed stare. "Besides, I'd like to hear that abominable snowman story again."

* * *

Carter took over the watch in the early hours of the morning, which left Thompson with no more excuses to avoid sleep.

He lay on his pallet, hands beneath his head as he stared at the sky. The serrated trees were visible only by the gaps they left in the stars, which were occasionally invaded by stray sparks from the dying fire. The last time he had slept outside he had been on the other side of the world and living a nightmare. Now he was on a new mission, in different gear and surrounded by different soldiers, and he had no idea what he was walking into. Barbs of anxiety began tugging at his gut.

There was a rustling noise nearby as Carter settled herself against a tree. He could picture her blinking the sleep from her sharp eyes, holding back a yawn, stretching her arms over her head. It wasn't until his muscles stopped straining against his forcefully-stationary bones that he realized that he felt safe with her on duty. It was almost as comforting as keeping watch himself.

 _Probably better,_ he thought, jaw clenching. _She's not going to fall asleep in enemy territory._

He lay like that for most of an hour, angry memories and adrenaline twisting his stomach into knots and unable to close his eyes because of the images that waited there, but eventually the familiar wave of exhaustion crashed over him and he lost consciousness.

Thompson's dreams were fragmented. _Pale faces, slack with death or contorted with pain. Everything covered in sand. A flag on a mountaintop twisting in the boiling, humid wind blowing off the sea. The hem of a gold dress spinning out of sight and vague uneasiness. Fear and exhaustion and pushing forward in the dark only to be pushed right back once the sun rose._ Each scene, whether it was a half-glimpsed dance or the blood-slicked earth of a battlefield, was punctuated by machine gun fire and the flash of shells.

He jolted awake just as the stars were beginning to fade. Bitterly cold air flooded into his lungs as he tried to gasp through the constricting tightness in his chest.

A few feet away, a shadowy figure leaned over Dugan's sleeping form.

Before he could think Thompson's gun was in his hand—he wasn't even sure where it had been, perhaps he was already clutching it in his sleep—and aimed at the intruder. He slithered out of his bag and cocked the weapon.

The figure spun around at the _click_ and held up their own weapon.

It was Carter.

They stared each other down for a few seconds before lowering their firearms.

"I hope I didn't startle you, Agent," Carter said softly. The angles of her face were thrown into sharp contrast by the light from the remains of the fire.

"I was asleep," Thompson responded gruffly. He tucked his gun back under the sack he was using as a pillow and rolled onto his other side so that she wouldn't see his hands shaking. _It almost happened all over again. It almost happened all over again. It almost happened—_

And there would have been no escaping it this time. He took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut, but all he could see was the corner of a white handkerchief poking from beneath the sand.

"My apologies. You have another hour or so to sleep, if you wish. I'll wake everyone when it's time to break camp."

He grunted, not trusting himself to speak. Vivid images of Carter lying motionless on the ground, scarlet blood pooling around her fingertips, flashed through his mind.

It was going to be a long hour.


End file.
